


Show Time

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Movie Night, Scary Movies, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles involving Sherlock and Molly watching TV/Movies together as well as TV/Movie crossovers and AU's</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pray Silence for the Best Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a character study, a little fun with their flirtatious friendship.

On her days off she takes baths. She soaks until she's wrinkly and newborn pink, leaving her hair up in a high bun to keep it from getting wet. It still smells like her while her skin is infused with the citrus scent of her bath bombs.

On days she's worked she showers. She sloughs the death and decay of her day off so efficiently there is no evidence left for, even him, to base a deduction. On those nights she steps out of the bathroom waterlogged with a towel wrapped primly around her chest.

He notes with amusement how rather like a mouse she looks shivering in the ambient air outside her self-made steam cloud. Swatches of wet hair cling to the curves of her neck in tendrils. as she cuts across the corridor to pull on a tank top and shorts. She exits the bedroom with a tube of brand new lotion. A scent she hasn't tried, spicy where her usual choices lean more toward the sweet. Notes of white pepper and Earl Grey, base notes of amber and sandalwood, a further cry from her habitual scent could not be found. Yet, it suited her. 

Tonight had been a shower night, but bath or shower, she still went through the same incredibly regimented moisturizing routine.

He understood the need of it, she worked in a very astringent environment, constant hand-washing works on a number on one's skin. If she's not careful, her knuckles tend to crack and bleed not good for a woman whose profession requires her to dig around in the open chest cavities with nothing but a thin layer of latex between bloody gore and her bare hands.  It chagrined him ever so slightly that she insisted on not being touched until the lotion dried. She was extremely taxing about this particular ritual and was unflinchingly rigid with regard to it's execution. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to touch her but he failed to notice how much casual touching they had fallen into the habit of before just then. It annoyed him that he had to be mindful of the no-touching edict. It was like an open tab in his mind and it rubbed at him like a cheap shirt tag.

He huffed quietly in exasperation as she rubbed a handful, warming it between her palms in slow circles, before sliding a trail of it up each arm. Her hands stopped at each shoulder to give herself deep massaging presses, sighing sweetly at her own ministrations. She was obviously taking her time on purpose to annoy him.

She flicks her eyes in his direction, blinking innocently up at him. "Whats the matter?"  

"I've not been home in days." He says as if that's a complete explanation unto itself.

"You're not home now, Sherlock." She rebuts, earning her another huff and grumble from the consulting detective. 

"Don't be tedious, there is an understood inference that I have also not seen you in as many days."

"Fewer, actually, since you haven't gone home yet." She quirks the corner of her lip, undisguised enjoyment on her face as she teases him. She relents and cocks her head to the side, pouting a bit with worry that she'd somehow insulted him. "I said hello and hugged you. I asked you how it went. Were there more details you wanted to tell me about?"

She was playing dumb. Fine, change of tactic, "Your moisturizing regiment is inefficiently long."

She rose her eyebrows at the shift in the conversation,"Is it?"

"Yes, rather inefficient." He snatches the tube from her hands too quickly for her to process what's happened, let alone protest. Before she realizes the tube is no longer in her hands he's squeezing coils of it into his palm. In the space of a single breath he had her legs pulled into his lap and rubbing lotion over her shins. She squeaked softly from the chill, as he skipped the step of warming it first, and pure shock. 

She gawped for a moment before swallowing and taming her face into a mask of indifference. Sherlock Holmes was just rubbing lotion up her thighs, no big. His palms smoothed over her legs in rapid passes and in less than half a minute he was handing the tube back to her, settling against the couch cushions. She didn't take the tube back, instead she scanned her legs, grading his work. She shook her head, "You missed some spots, it's all uneven. It will take forever to dry like this." 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, mildly incensed by her critique. Not taking the bait, Molly nudged him with her toes, "Go on then, genius. It rubs the lotion on the skin or else it gets the hose again." 

"What?!" A small amount of alarm leeched into his voice. 

Molly giggled. "It's from Silence of the Lambs. You know... Hello, Clarice." Her voiced deepened as she tried to affect her very best impression of Anthony Hopkins which was not a very good impression at all. Regardless, she could have actually turned into Dr. Lecter himself in that moment and the reference would still have flown right over his head. He still blinked at her dumbstruck. "It's a film." She assisted. "About a serial killer... Silence of the Lambs. Surely you've heard of it." 

He shook his head. "I don't go to the cinema."

"It came out over twenty years ago, Sherlock. It has a pretty secure position in the zeitgeist. How have you, of all people, not seen Silence of the Lambs? I'd think it would be like porn for you." Molly babbled out as she watched him squeeze more lotion into his hand but paused and looked at her, brows furrowed in annoyance. 

"I'm never sure whether I'm meant to be insulted by the frequent implications that murders get me off, or pity people whose understanding of fascination begins and ends with sex." He lowers his eyes to watch his hands move together, warming the lotion this time but pauses before he starts rubbing her legs again. 

"No I didn't mean..." She shook her head. "It's just a shame. I had this really cute mental picture of a teenage Sherlock sneaking out to see Silence of the Lambs or The Usual Suspects with a fake id, or blackmailing the ticket booth attendant into letting you in." She looks up from her lashes with an impish grin. 

Sherlock was not blushing, because Sherlock does not blush. He was just not finding it as irritating as he usually would that Molly was thinking cute thoughts about him. "Yes well. So sorry to disappoint." His hands over her legs slowed as he looked up to meet her gaze. "If you would like to watch it now I would... not be opposed to watching it with you."

She nodded. "Alright." She grinned and lifted her remote to find the movie On Demand.

 

***

 

The next 2 hours they were both so absorbed in the story of Clarice Starling's pursuit of Buffalo Bill that neither of them noticed that Sherlock was still holding Molly's legs in his lap, or that when she jumped in fright she ended up tucked under his arm, head against his chest, close enough to feel his pulse quicken. This film defied his expectations, it was actually quite good. One hand rested comfortably at her shoulder while the other fell to the top knee of her crossed legs that were still in his lap. 

The end credits rolled over the screen, breaking the spell and they each took a breath, inching away from each other slightly. Molly swung her legs off of his lap bending her knees to her chest and banding her arms around them. 

"So the er..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "The man she consults to help her find Buffalo Bill, Doctor Lecter, he's a villain." 

"Yes." Molly nods, unsure of the point to his statement but assents anyway. "You could argue he is the central villain."

"The consultant is the villain." Sherlock restates. "Is this a running theme? People who are interested in assisting with catching murderers are, themselves murderers?"

Molly had to take a moment to think but, now that he mentioned it, it did seem like a fairly common trope. "Yes, I suppose it is. How dull." 

"Then I needn't take it personally that so many people fall victim to such cliche thinking with respect to my work." He smiled to himself then stood from her sofa and walked to the coat rack to don his Belstaff. Molly met him at the door while he was winding his scarf around his neck. 

"Oh you-you're going now? I thought maybe, if you were hungry-" Molly started looking up at him with large expectant eyes. 

"I've found your company this evening to be... most enjoyable. Expect to see me again soon." He leaned close to her, Molly closed her eyes expecting one of his perfunctory cheek busses but found her eyes fluttering open in surprise as he pressed his warm lips to hers for a proper parting kiss. Her chin was cupped in his hand to prevent her from startling away. "Good night, Molly Hooper." He spoke against her lips before whirling out the door. 

She went to the window a moment later, watching as he got into a taxi. "Good night, Sherlock Holmes." She murmured to the quiet of her sitting room.

 

***

 

The next day at work found Molly hunched over her desk, going over a stack of paperwork when a delivery man entered the lab, announcing her name. "Doctor Hooper?"

Molly stood from her chair, the legs groaned loudly against the tiled floor as she pushed away from her work to intercept the delivery man and his cargo. He handed her a small digital pad to sign before handing over a small basket wrapped in cellophane. She took it and thanked him as he went on his way. She waited until she was back at her desk to examine the package. It was a very nice assortment of high end scented lotions and bath items. 

There was a card attached, sealed in an envelope. 

_It places the lotion in the fucking basket._   
_Yours,_   
_Sherlock Holmes_

Molly laughed so hard her gut ached and tears pricked her eyes, clutching the card against her chest. When her laughter died down she kissed the little card and placed it in her breast pocket, taking it out now and then the smile fondly at it. Only Sherlock Holmes could make Molly swoon over lines from Silence of the Lambs.

 


	2. A Colonel of an Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock just doesn't get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this is pure whacky cracky nonsense. In case you need a refresher... https://screen.yahoo.com/snl-women-skits/colonel-angus-comes-home-000000562.html

"Well I think Colonel Angus is delightful."

"Hmm... You won't after forty-five minutes."

"No, You can only take _so_ much Colonel Angus."

 

Molly is blushing and muffled giggles are escaping through the hand cupped over her mouth. Sherlock knows it's meant to be funny, but he can't for the life of him understand why.

This is why he disliked comedy, he didn't often understand it, and it was even rarer for him to find it amusing when he did. This show, in particular, was rife with misses. Not that he could base that opinion on his own reactions, but based on Molly's, in an hour and a half of programming, there were usually only 20 or so minutes of genuinely humorous sketches. That is to say, humorous enough to spur her into laughter. Yet she insisted on watching it, even after he pointed out it's inconsistencies. 

"I don't get it. Why is it funny?"

Molly coughed. "Umm... well, er, it's..."

Sherlock blinked, surely it wasn't complicated or existential. It must be a reference to some pop culture fad he was unaware of.

Molly cleared her throat and tried again.  "It's the name. Colonel Angus. It sounds, you know... funny."

"John's middle name is Hamish." Sherlock noted.

Molly's brows  furrowed in confusion. "Yes...?" She agreed, unsure of what that had to do with anything.

"It's also a funny name." He added helpfully.

Molly giggled and nodded "Yes, but that's not why this is funny."

"Then  _why_ is it funny?" He was becoming frustrated with this. Why couldn't she just tell him? He was just going to have to hack into her DVR's parent controls and block this programme so she could never make him watch it with her again. 

Even though she never _made_ him do anything. He simply showed up unannounced, per usual, and helped himself to any food she had on hand while she settled in to watch TV. As was his wont to do when cases were sparse or disinteresting. 

"Okay. Just listen...Colonel Angus." She pronounced carefully.

"Colonel, US Military ranking between lieutenant colonel and brigadier General." He rattled off. "Angus, It is an Anglicised form of the Irish and Scottish Gaelic Aonghas, which is composed of Celtic elements meaning 'one', and 'choice' and a type of cattle bred for beef..."

"Colonel Angus" Molly repeated more smoothly but Sherlock still looked back at her with confusion. "ColonelAngus" she rolled the words together hoping that would do the trick but he still seemed clueless.

Molly dithered but her expression quickly turned impish. "You know what, Sherlock? You should ask John. He's a military man. I'm sure knows all about Colonel Angus." She bit her lip, trying not to smile too broadly. 

This was a trick. He didn't know how exactly but it felt very much like a trick. He couldn't let Molly know he knew so he simply nodded. "Perhaps I will." He replied tentatively. 

Molly increased the pressure on her lip, clearly trying to stifle laughter. Her poker skills must be godawful. 

 

 

* * *

 

"Watch out, Melinda. Once a woman is introduced to Colonel Angus, she'll settle for nothing less."

"Daddy, they say all the women folk _love_ Colonel Angus." 

"Hmm, I don't know why people make such a big fuss over Colonel Angus."

"I myself never much cared for Colonel Angus. Not sure why... can't put my finger on it..."

"Colonel Angus is an _acquired_ taste."

 

He was perfectly capable of doing research, of course. It was a joke from a foolish sketch comedy show, yet he was having the worst time cracking it. He needed to arrive at it independently otherwise it would feel unresolved. He'd gone over it dozens of times. Every line, every laugh. He even analyzed the pauses looking for some sort of pattern he missed. 

"Colonel Angus" he spoke aloud after hours of silence alone in his mind palace, replaying the sketch again and again.  

"What!?" A crash sounded from inside his kitchen Mrs. Hudson popped out looking flustered. 

"It's just something Molly Hooper showed me." He waved away dismissively. How long had she been in his kitchen? He hoped she hadn't binned his cultures.

"She's a lovely girl, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson said in her warm intonation that belied her fondness. 

He simply hummed his agreement. He didn't understand what those two things had to do with one another but Sherlock could appreciate a sound deduction, even if it came from nowhere.

"But for future reference, that is one of those things that are better kept between the two of you..." Mrs. Hudson advised gently before disappearing from his flat altogether.

Curious. 

 

* * *

 

"Colonel Angus! You old carpet-bagger."

"Annabelle, I fear my visit is an inconvenience."

"Oh nonsense, Colonel Angus. We're always happy to see your shining face!"

 

He knows it's funny. It has the cadence of a joke and the crowd laughs. Hysterics even! But there's no point at which those facts intersect in his mind to form a cogent reason for _why_ it was so damnably funny. What was most maddening was that it seemed so fucking obvious to everyone else. 

Clearly, he's over-thinking this. How does one under-think? It never occurred to him to consider that a valuable skill until just now. Molly instructed him to ask John, implying he would have some intimate knowledge on the subject. But then she smiled at him. Not her usual smile, mind, but a smile more like the one he puts on when he's wheedling something out of her. She even had the audacity to blush and bite her lip, upping the ante. Unnecessarily, in Sherlock's opinion. He'd become more helpless against her smile the longer he's known her. 

Perhaps she simply wanted to spare herself some humiliation. Oh Lord, now he's certain the joke is about one of those tedious subjects people never talk about but constantly allude to as if you inherently understand. "In which case, addressing my queries to John is prudent." Sherlock's thought fell unbidden from his mouth. 

"What queries?" Lestrade asked. Lestrade is here? No he's there. Crime scene? These thoughts are filtering in while he's at a crime scene? 

"What?" Sherlock responded. 

"You said you have queries to address with John. What queries?"

"Molly told me to ask him about Colonel Angus. It's this thing she showed me. It's driving me mad! I can't stop thinking about it." Sherlock explained with a frustrated huff. 

Lestrade almost inhaled a mouthful of donut. Did he really just hear that? "You-" He started but then coughed. "You and Molly-?"

"Yes. Well anyway. About this body, legitimate accident, unfortunately." _Bugger_. Sherlock straightened his shoulders, disappointed. He'd been counting on a case to give him a break from this whole humor business. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Colonel Angus, the pleasure is all mine. I've heard _so_ much about you."

"Well, my dear, don't believe everything you hear about ol' Colonel Angus. Colonel Angus might be rough. Colonel Angus might not smell like a bed of roses. But deep down, Colonel Angus is very sweet."

 

"I hear congratulations are in order!" Mary sing-songs while popping the champagne bottle and pouring it into a carafe to make mimosas that were 2 parts more champagne than orange juice. "I mean, Finally!" She poured each of them a glass "God knows he needed it! Cheers!"

Molly raised her glass with a confused expression. "Sorry what?"

"Sherlock..." Mary supplied. "You finally let him get his leg over. Look, I don't want details but..." She glances to the side and smiles "give me details."

"Let him what? No! No." Molly shook her head emphatically completely boggled as to where anyone would have gotten that impression.

"Oh." Mary's face fell as she thought. "So then he just...?" She opened her fingers like a "V" making an obscene gesture with her tongue. 

"What!? No!" Molly's eyes were wide and round with confusion and her cheeks were flushed hot. "What on Earth made you think Sherlock- That we would- that _he_ would-?"

"Sherlock is telling everyone he did. He's mad for it, apparently. He said it's all he can think about." Mary raised an eyebrow.

Molly quietly seethed even as she blushed hotly, pulling out her mobile to send a text.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"I always begged my daddy, 'Tell me stories about you and Colonel Angus.' But he never will." 

"That's because all _my_ experiences with Colonel Angus end in embarrassment."

 

 

"We're friends, arent we Sherlock? I'm your friend, aren't I?" John was sitting in his chair, leg crossed over his knee, foot wobbling impatiently as his face burns with anger. Bloody hell! John's here? He's been on such a spiral over this accursed Colonel Angus puzzle that he didn't notice when John arrived. And what the hell is he on about?

"Did you think I wouldn't be happy for you?" John seethed.

"You don't seem happy now." Sherlock pointed out, still not entirely up to speed.

"Just because I'm happy _for_ you, doesn't mean I'm particularly happy _with_ you. You didn't think to, maybe tell your best friend that you and Molly are in a relationship? I had to hear it from Mrs. Hudson and bloody Greg!" John was tapping his fingertips against the armrest now. 

Sherlock furrowed his brows but said nothing. He was biding his time until he had a firmer grasp of John's grievance.

"I should have known. I mean, you spend half the time you're not working at hers, and days you don't spend there, she spends at yours. And you make those pathetically moony faces at her when she isn't looking."

"What? No I don't."

"Yes you do! And we can hardly get you to come round unless we invite Molly first and she makes you. I should have seen it sooner. How long has this been going on?" John looked as if he was about to interrogate Sherlock, pick him apart until he'd gotten every detail.

"Honestly, I haven't understood a thing you've said since 'We're friends aren't we?'. I have no idea what you're talking about." Sherlock chuckled softly. At a certain point one can only bow to the absurd.

"No idea? You have no idea about how you went bragging to all and sundry about oral sex with Molly Hooper?" John gritted out. 

Sherlock swallowed then his jaw dropped, mouth agape as he tried to recall. He certainly thought about it a lot, but didn't remember ever letting it slip. But it did happen, on occasion, he would blurt out things on his mind without realizing it. No, no he didn't, he wouldn't have.

"Lestrade said you had something you wanted to ask me about...?" John lead the conversation.

Sherlock's brows lowered in confusion. "What's Colonel Angus got to do with this?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know...everything?"

Just then Sherlock's phone buzzed, a text from Molly Hooper.

**Why are you telling everyone we know you've gone down on me?**

**MH**

His eyes widened at the screen in shock.

"I'll be honest, Sherlock. I'm not sure I feel comfortable talking to you about performing cunnilingus on a friend of mine. It's just too-"

Cunnilinus. Colonel Angus. There was almost an audible snap as the connection was made in his head. He couldn't help himself he doubled over in a fit of laughter as John looked on in distress. 

"Sherlock, are you...?" John started but couldn't think of what exactly he was trying to ask.

"Cunnilingus" he gasped out between heaves of laughter. "Colonel Angus. I just got it." He swiped at the corner of his eye with one hand and took out his phone with the other to send Molly a text. 

**I now know why Colonel Angus is funny. Thank you, Molly**

**SH**

 

**Christ! Sherlock! How am I supposed to explain this?**

**MH**

 

**Don't. Let them figure it out on their own.**

**SH**

 

He sent his final text smiling, he knew they wouldn't. Oh well, he supposed then he would just have to live up to the expectations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Embrace the crackiness.


	3. Sic Semper Tyrannis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an exchange in Parks and Recreation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow me on Tumblr, you might have noticed I do quite a bit of what I refer to as Pawnee!lock fan art. And if you don't follow me on tumblr, you should follow me on tumblr! I mean I just told you I do a bunch of fan art inspired by my two favorite shows: Sherlock and Parks and Recreation. What more could you possibly ask for?

"Inflexible... Tyrannically fastidious... More of a dictator than a teacher... Sorry, what's the issue?" Sherlock asked, setting aside the folder containing Molly's teaching evaluation.

She'd come home in a huff, going directly into the shower without so much of a 'Honey, I'm home.' Not that she ever called him 'honey', pet names weren't really a thing they'd fallen into. Was it time to introduce pet names? He would need to do some research. After scrubbing herself raw in the shower she walked to the sitting room, hunched in on herself wearing an oversized t-shirt and her glasses. Pulling the folder from her messenger bag when he inquired on her mood.

"You mean, apart from the fact that it's not true?" She answered with her fists clenched and her face red with an angry flush.

"Well you have your... particular ways in the lab-" Sherlock began but was instantly cut off.

"Those 'particular ways', Sherlock, are called 'The Scientific Method' It's how scientists, like myself, arrive at empirical data. And I never see you complaining about my 'particular ways' when I'm handing over body parts so-"

"It wasn't meant as an insult. I rather enjoy your particular ways. It's one of the many reasons why you are my pathologist." He calmly interrupted her as she was clearly building toward a rant.

"I'm not a dictator." She insisted folding her arms over her chest. "If I were a dictator I would be a  _very strong_  dictator." Molly stepped into his space pulling at the lapels of his camel dressing gown. Eyes flick up at him, gaze distant and dreamy. "And you would be my body guard and lead my army." Her voice was a soft yet insistent murmur as she traced a hand over the buttons of his shirt. 

Sherlock's entire body stiffened under her caress, eyes alight with desire. He leans toward her then pauses at the oddness of her words and the reaction they've elicited. He wasn't entirely certain but he could definitely be delving into 'a bit not good' territory here. He thought it best to check. "Uhm... " He answered softly, clearing his throat. "Is... Is it it  _bad_  that I'm aroused by the thought of you as a dictator?"

"No it's okay." Her voice rasped out as a harsh whisper before pulling him toward her in rough, messy kiss. He melted into it with a relieved exhale. 

***

Hours later they're in a messy heap on the floor, clothes strewn everywhere as if a bomb had gone off. Molly groans painfully as she stretches her legs, unbracketing them from Sherlock's sweaty hips and flopping beside him to snuggle into his chest with a long sigh. 

"Hmm so have you worked out which of the interns wrote the evaluation?" Molly asked, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, unwilling to expend even the modicum of effort necessary to turn her head toward him. 

"I have a few theories. Well, three theories. The gap-toothed one..."

"Emily." Molly provided.

"Right. The one with the mustard stain."

"That was one time, and I think you mean Terrence."

"Yes, or then the one that wears too much cologne."

"Ugh! Kyle!" Molly bellowed. "Yes it was definitely Kyle. I tried to have him removed from the programme when I found him making obscene jokes with the bodies. Instead he just got a written warning, I had to be present for the write-up so he knew it had been me that made the complaint. The next day I came into the morgue and he'd tied all the bodies' hands with string to look like they were giving me the middle finger. Or at least I'm certain it was him. I let it go. I didn't want to deal with the headache since I didn't have proof it was him."

Sherlock chuckled. "Strong dictator, my ass." 

"I said I wasn't a dictator!" Molly squeaked as Sherlock rolled over onto her to plant sloppy kisses on her neck and shoulders. 

"And I'm not your body guard yet here I am..." He continues mouthing over her collarbones and sternum feeling her giggles vibrate against his face. 

"You're not going to do anything rash to Kyle are you?" Molly asked cupping his cheeks and pulling his face up to meet her gaze. 

"Rash? No. Absolutely not. Don't be silly." He assured, returning to his place between her breasts. "Calculated and tactical? Yes." 

She laughed again before Sherlock made her lose her concentration. A dictator is only as strong as the loyalty of her subjects, after all. 


End file.
